I'm always amused by these two-cent personality tests. I always have to resist the urge to analyze how the questions are set up. Talk about answer-driven questions! I mean, really, when you are given two extremes...ah well. This was fun, Angie. Thanks! ;) It was a nice break from working on my edited collection preface for 609, anyway!

Absolutely love this guy's voice. I think I'd marry him tomorrow, just so I could hear him sing every day of my life. ;) I did splurge and by his semi-new Outside In album, which I cannot wait to hear in full!

Oh, you expected something to go with that title? Isn't it self-explanatory?

Stayed up late last night to finish.

Hoopy.

Now off to read for pedagogy and poetry.

Pretty, pretty sun-through green-turning yellow trees morning.

This coming weekend: a funeral and a wedding. My dad's cousin and sweet lady from my church passed away from cancer this morning. She is the third sister in her family to die of cancer. So sad!

Nothing-ing:

The silver is past
and the ship has gone
and all that remains
is this wisp of yellow plume:
spring’s memory,
a duck’s pajamas.

I almost didn't take time to go to the reading last night...what with contemplating going to the Dodge Poetry Festival this weekend and preparing for marathon conferences this week, etc. But I decided I should, and am glad I did! As Christina said, he was the first "real" West Virginian we've met since our transplant. When asked why he failed at being a flower child when he moved to California, he said he grew up on road kill, and liked his possum sandwiches too much. I must have had a funny look on my face, 'cause Christina whispered to me, "I don't think he's kidding." Oh! Oh!

So...as of now, I guess I'm going this weekend. It's a 7 hour drive to Christina's home town, but if we split the driving...and if I think of getting to hear Robert Hass read...yeah. I think it'll be worth it.

An eventful day in an otherwise lethargic weekend. A lady at church I'd just met wanted to take me home to meet--literally--their community. They live after the tradition of Hutterites, who, in short, have "everything in common." Very sweet people, and students from the university, as I understand it, live in this community as well. I did not go home with them today, as I had reading and class prep I needed to do, but she has my contact info, so I expect I'll hear from them in the near future. Also have a dinner invitation for Thursday night, and tonight, AND--this is SO exciting!--I am contemplating going with one of my fellow poets to the Dodge Poetry Festival next weekend! It's a 7 hour drive, which seems crazy, but, I think I need a little crazy at this particular juncture.



Autumn Gambol

From the midst of a creaking
gold oak sprang wine the color
of rainbow trout, and splashed
the forest with light neither
dry nor wet, and only drinkable
to the subliminal soul in green
leggings and white feathers,
leaning laughing against a giant
muffin boulder oozing blueberries
on which sat tumblers of misted
hollow & maple sun-found morning.

After staying up late to grade last night, and getting rid of ALL my student's papers (almost, late hand-ins, the bane of my existence), I have pledged to think AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLE of my students this weekend, and to devote a sizable chunk of time to poetry. Here's a little piece I just finished (if "finished" is the word).

Red Dress Moment

I perch, a good little Mennonite, behind its sixty’s green-
and-silver bulk, lower lip caught between a row of teeth
and a scowl. I feed a cloud of carnival-colored fabric
through and around this thread-fed ‘foot’ that misses nothing—
plotted seams, tender fingers, misbehaved hair. Somewhere
in these jowls are sleeves, a bodice, possibly even a skirt;
I know this, because wherever my mother’s shadow falls, chaos,
acknowledging its fate, hitches itchy blue bellbottoms
and heads for the briar patch. I acknowledge mine, too
correcting pockets 1/8th inch askew from where my hands
should be and think I shouldn’t be thinking of bright-colored
catalogues, or the mall, where the clothing looks happy
to be mass-produced and painlessly perfection-free.

Morning Thoughts
I.

Cloudy, lukewarm tea
adagios softening
the voice of crickets
heralding autumnal weather
duties on the other side
of bacon and a grease-swiped
grimace, anxious toes
rhythming their own Morse
Code under the desk
last duvet thoughts drifting
up into the burnished haze
of valley, deer (or cow?), trees.

Morning Thoughts
II.
Gangly stillness--
expanse of air and tree and sky
breath-held, kite flung.
Aqua and plaid pajamas
thrown across a rustic bench--
warm romantic skeleton
of the day's endeavors.
Yellow in the hollow awaiting rain.

Yes, I deliberately chose Grace Kelly to offset my title. It seemed appropriate.

Louise Gluck on continuing a poem one has finally managed to grasp hold of ... and then what happens:

"What follows is a period of more concentrated work, so called because as long as one is working the thing itself is wrong or unfinished: a failure. Still, this engagement is absorbing as nothing else I have ever in my life known. And then the poem is finished, and at that moment, instantly detached: it becomes what it was first perceived to be, a thing always in existence. No record exists of the poet's agency. And the poet, from that point, isn't a poet anymore, simply someone who wishes to be one" ("The Education of a Poet, 16).

There is something to be said for shitty first drafts. Of forests not seen for trees. of attempts. Of the innocence of sincerity. Of illusion that has been bitten by the adder of truth.

Sometimes I am amazed by my ability to be duped. I see a nice green hill and I say, "ah, a rest." But when approached, the hill is the itchy, curly head of a Ludwilliam Blompenhoffner, and one finds, lying down for a nap, ant hills where one's feet once were, upon awaking.

Yes, I have not commented on how my first week of teaching went, which seems sad. Well, mostly its because I've been so exhausted and tied down I haven't had room to squiggle too much! All in all, my first week (of teaching--minus the being out of water for two days and the other melodrama) was quite positive. I seem to have a good group of kids, with a few less than enthusiastic ones in the bunch--but only a few. I have been surprised that my 50 minutes with them races away, and I'm learning I have to cut down and spend more time doing less, while at the same time getting them used to "flash projects." So we'll see.

Thus far they've had 2 reading quizzes (one more formal, one less traditional), a diagnostic and a reading response. Already I see patterns...I have my work cut out for me.

My creative spirit feels as if it's been caught by a mean aunt and stuffed in a bag with some chicken livers to survive as best it can. I am hoping that once I get used to my schedule my scared words will come back to visit me, and I will be able to write "serious" poetry again. In the meantime, as my poetry journal says, "dreams are synthesized non-reality, distilled porridge of mums."

Too tired to write about my week, so am posting the poem I finished...a lifetime ago it seems...but really just before the TA training began, almost two weeks ago, when I still had room in my brain for poetry...



St. Vladimir’s, Kiev
November 2007

We blundered off the street, two vagrant
Americans in too-thin coats
chased by swift-gathering dusk
into the flickering calm and shuffle
of everyday people at prayer.
A hundred fragile tongues of light
bent by every breath, the rustle
of that mother’s grocery bag, the lovers’
umbrella. And then Russian voices
sink and ebb from invisible speakers,
fall on my ears like a deep, distant
lament. Even the soprano pours her song
as if ointment on the bloodied fields
and ravines of Berezvoka, Odessa,
Babi Yar…as if to say, “I see these hills
of bones that were your children’s hands,
taste the burning ashes that were your homes,
your schools, your synagogues.”
Under one of many radiant Marys,
garbed in holy Ukrainian imagination
(gilt on gold, sequin-frosted silver)
he stands, so still in the muted yellow light
away from the quiet turmoil
of this Monday’s vodka-and-cigarette
breath close, he might be mistaken
for an icon himself, were it not
for the black jeans and lack of glitz,
and the as-yet unlit candle clutched in his right fist.
His is no cursory ritual of youth, a quick dip
of knees and multiple hasty crossings
under hovering babushkas who scrape,
with efficient reverence, excess wax from the bases
of candelabras. Five minutes, ten, twenty;
I stand rooted, a prayerless voyeur
unable to look away from the occasional,
painful shift of foot to foot, as if
movement itself—for both of us—
will negate his prayers. For whom does
he petition, this lone survivor
of the unknown: himself, a friend, a brother?
In what silent presence—grim, immense or forgetful—
does he stand so alone? Or have I stumbled
upon the only Jew in the city?
Walking back into the numbing cold
and star-speckled night to catch our train
I discover I still hold my own candle,
slightly bowed in my grip.
I realize too late it was meant to be lit for him,
for him and this city, these people, so ensconced
in mystery they can’t find their own light
except when splashed in red
against a fresh-fallen winter snow.

I've had a reasonably productive couple of days. Yesterday I perused the material made available to TAs online, reading through most of it, and brainstorming for my own syllabus. Today I met Jay Dolmage for the first time--he's head of the Center for Writing Excellence--did some laundry, read Koch's "The Art of Poetry"--I love that poem, and just now found myself working on "St. Vladamir's Kiev:" a poem I've tried to start half a dozen times already. I think it's finally taking shape on the page. One I can live with, anyway.

The parental unit is on its way down, with tons of food, from what I heard. Bless their hearts! It will be good to have someone other than my boom-box to talk to. And trees. And fawns. Even an indigo and black butterfly on my walk today. People with voices. And opinions.

*I wax random*

I.

Two gangly-legged fawns
with very white spots
and Tigger-frisking tails
appeared from the woods
last evening--to say hello,
I presume,or, to check out
my garbage can--darting
away before a swollen sky
could spill a summer's worth
of emotion and smear
their transcendental image.

II.

I didn't know
so many tree frogs
could sing 3-part lonely.

III.

If one tree had seven lives
I'd still ask to be
this sugar maple on this hill
by this swing next to the little girl
whose red braids now sit
atop her head so regally
though her fingers are black-
cracked from a life's worth
of labor.

IV.

Tomorrow wears a borrowed dress
but her hat is mine.

Well, here I am in my new digs. The drive this morning was uneventful, and I made it into town around 11:15. The internet guy came and got me hooked up soon after. I don't have wireless, but I can get my own router eventually.

Yeah, I'm lonely. And it didn't help that my mother sobbed this morning when I left. It nearly broke my heart. Dad called this evening and said, "why don't you pack up and come home this evening?" I was like "Huh?" Here he thought I had nothing to do this week, and might as well come home. I told them that being lonely was part of the package, and that I have to condition myself. Plus, I'll find plenty to do once I sleep a bit and get my bearings.

Saw two gorgeous fawns by the woods behind my apartment tonight. Wonder if they're the culprits who knocked the lid off my garbage can? Well, I hope to see them again. As long as they don't eat my flowers.

It was a beautiful wedding!

The bride glowed and sparkled; the groom paced, spaced and smiled.

The good weather held out during long photo sessions!

My feet killed during the ceremony (stand up, of course)

Michelle cried coming down the aisle, and nearly got me started too...

Pictures for those interested, with more to come! http://s237.photobucket.com/albums/ff229/Arabella78/Michelle%20Wedding/

I wore those heels for six hours.

Cleanup lasted until nearly 12:30, so I was in those official wedding garments for over 12 hours. (Shorts to be worn all the coming week now)

Cousin Stephanie, it was a pleasure to beam at you in the front rows, next to The Uncle, who winked and whispered loudly.

Shrimp cocktail, roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans with bacon, home-made rolls n' Amish peanut butter (that is actually what we call it, Jason), Olive Garden salad, home-made mints, assorted fruit, white chocolate pretzel rods, three kinds of cake (I had carrot) with ice cream...it all made up for not having had lunch, though I had a tummy ache from all the richness. I should buy bananas ans greens in bulk for this week.

More later, I'm sure... I'm "wedding tired" and must get some non-beautifying beauty sleep!!

I desperately want to be an absconded giraffe about now. My life has been far, far too dramatic for my tastes, and it's to the point where I feel I'm floating around like a washed-out poof of something, watching myself in all these grotesque contortions of smashed blueberries and bleeding gardenias-flight. Last night I slept almost 12 hours, I was that tired.

Must think pretty, as I'm in the midst of bridesmaidenly duties for tomorrow. I like my feet best of all, I think. French manicured toes and sparkly-tipped white-heeled sandals.

My move was successful! My family and I headed down early early Friday morning, and by Saturday, after an unbelievable amount of scrubbing, fixing and arranging, I was pretty much settled. We took time to explore too--greater Morgantown, as well as the downtown campus where I'll be. The steep, narrow one-way streets and huddledness of the town still makes me claustrophobic, but I feel as if I'm becoming more familiar with the crazy layout of it all. I'll be doing a fair amount of walking to classes, it looks like, and I live at the top of a mountain, so going home feels like climbing the backside of a T-Rex!!

Some pictures from the weekend:

http://s237.photobucket.com/albums/ff229/Arabella78/Morgantown/

Finally! My last and possibly most important purchase--a mattress and box springs set. I was majorly stressing about getting a bed yesterday, and hauled my sister off to do some scouting. Low and behold, she knew of a store that was (for real this time) going out of business, and I got my set for just around $200! Tickled am I. Though still stressed out, since I keep spending and spending, and am not replenishing my funds at all! Speaking of which, I need to find out about my stipend...when I'll get that first payment and all that good stuff.

Still stressing out. I don't feel ready for the move, though suppose I will pretty much be by Thursday.

In other news, I stuck my neck out and got a class switched around so I won't be doing two classes back-to-back from 4-9:50 PM on Wednesday nights anymore! *Relief!*

Today was definitely my "off day." It was a good, productive day, but I felt tummy-troubled, lethargic and overwhelmed...all at once. Went off to Big Lots to find another tub for yet another batch of books/binders full of research. I went down memory lane looking back at class notes, class syllabi and handouts from my undergrad years...collecting anything that will be helpful in my own first teaching experience. Wow, the paperwork I managed to accumulate. It's mind-boggling.

Worked a bit this evening on a poem list I'd scribbled in my journal, tweaking, adding, nibbling away. Title needs work.

To Shakespeare’s Muse
Or: Ode to Lists on Love

Knowing but not knowing
soft grass
silly hands
mud tears
orange racing jelly soda fountains brimless
blue sky Saturdays
knobby sweaters
musicals upside-down
shower songs
new socks
breakfast suppers
lost-found violets
seven-chord silver tongues
pots of poetry
poppy seed bread
lily-eyed green hills
autumn’s read maples
lazy tomato suppers
hello-smiles
hello-goodbye-smiles
silver dinning rain
elephant marshmallow feet
dusk-bumbling fireflies
rainbow over a steamy cattled meadow
six flea-bitten dogs bathed
greedy ears
sestinas to spring all December
fresh pineapple mornings
never hornet-angry days
tumbling starfish newspaper naps
small pink clouds